


King on a Burning Throne

by blackkat



Series: Cry Havoc [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7327036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five points of view on a family of monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King on a Burning Throne

 

  1. **Sarutobi**



The morning is cool and clear, calm in the way of a spring day when the weather is fair, even though they're on the verge of summer already. Sarutobi sits beside the window as the sun breaks the horizon, pipe at his lips and eyes lingering on the cloudless skies. It’s hardly his first time seeing a sunrise from the wrong side of morning since he took office—not even the first time this month, to be honest—but he feels the weight of his sleepless night in his tired old bones.

The world was never supposed to be this way. Hiruzen wasn’t meant to bury his successor, barely a quarter century into his life, and then have to ascend once more to take a post he had thought himself well rid of. He’s just past his sixty-fourth birthday, with too much grief packed into each spent year, and he feels it all too clearly on mornings such as this.

From behind him, there's the soft click of the door opening, and Hiruzen doesn’t have to look around to know who it is. Only one other person arrives so early, avoiding crowds or simply an early riser by nature—Hiruzen has never quite been able to tell.

“Good morning, Orochimaru,” he says calmly, and watches the blurred reflection in the window before him pause for a bare second before sliding into motion again.

“Sensei,” Orochimaru returns, simple and quiet without any audible undertones. It’s still enough to make Hiruzen still in surprise, because it’s been almost nine years since Orochimaru last called him that. There's a brief pause, as though Orochimaru is searching for words, and then he asks carefully, “I saw that Asuma returned to the capital last night.”

There's no glee in the statement, no attempt to lance a still-bleeding wound. No anger or malice or any of the things Hiruzen has come to expect from his former student, and he turns because he can't think of anything else to do, pulling the pipe from his lips as he does. His eyes catch on stark lines of black against pale skin, bared and clear and all but on display against the pale blue robe, wide-necked and with equally wide sleeves that drape but don’t fall past slim hands.

But more than that, his eyes catch on an expression that’s very close to wary, more uncertainty than the hate Hiruzen is so used to. And…there's a sort of peace in his golden eyes, peace with himself if nothing else. An ease that’s been long absent, a thoughtless grace when before every motion was tight with fury and the unending awareness of the many eyes trained on him.

The pipe slips from Hiruzen's suddenly lax fingers, and it’s only a lifetime of training shinobi reflexes that allows him to catch it halfway to the floor. As casually as he can manage, he straightens again, and says, “Yes, he’s returned to his post with the Daimyō. We had…something of a disagreement yesterday, I'm afraid.”

Orochimaru simply inclines his head—he’s never been one for empty sentiment or words of comfort, and that’s hardly changed, but he _listened_. He _asked_ , and called Hiruzen teacher, and those are all things Hiruzen had thought lost the moment Danzō sank his claws into the boy.

Because of that, Hiruzen feels safe enough asking carefully, “And you? Your injuries from yesterday have been dealt with satisfactorily?”

Orochimaru’s mouth tightens into an angry slash at the reminder of his encounter with Jiraiya, and then—then it smooths out, turns to resignation and determination instead of bitter fury. “Yes,” he answers simply, turning away to open one of the filing cabinets and pull out the excess of forms that Hiruzen always manages to work his way through over the course of the day. A pause, his hands lingering where they have no purpose, and with his back still turned to Hiruzen he says deliberately, “I would like to make my training of Naruto more formal. As I am I can only do so much for him, but with Anko's assistance…” He trails off, flexing his fingers absently, and then offers abruptly, “I would like to offer him the Snake contract.”

Hiruzen's brows arch sharply upward, rising towards his hairline. An offer like that, from a man like Orochimaru—it’s practically an adoption into his clan. Anko is the only one he’s ever found worthy of it, before now, and Hiruzen has to wonder if he’s truly underestimated Orochimaru’s ties to Naruto. If he’s overlooked, in his grief and guilt, just how much they’ve come to mean to each other.

It’s possible—even likely, if Hiruzen is honest with himself. He’s overlooked a great many things where Orochimaru is concerned, and this would be the least of all his various mistakes where his wayward student is concerned. He finds, however, that this is one instance of oversight he doesn’t regret, because he recognizes the look in Orochimaru’s eyes now.

Orochimaru has made a decision, set his feet upon a new path. It’s Naruto's influence, of that Hiruzen is sure—like his father, Naruto is very good at inspiring loyalty, even among those thought to lack it entirely. Whatever choice Orochimaru has made now, if this offer to sign the Snake contract comes on the heels of it, it’s for the boy’s sake.

Hiruzen thinks, for a moment, just what this will mean for Naruto as a shinobi. He has never deluded himself into thinking that Orochimaru is anything less than utterly dangerous, even bound to Konoha as he is now. Were his chakra unsealed, Hiruzen might even doubt his own ability to win a fight between them. With a teacher on that level, fully devoted to Naruto's advancement, ready to push the boundaries that any other teacher might set out of morality or concern—there's very little Naruto would be unable to accomplish.

For all his faults, for all that he’s made his fair share of mistakes with this boy, too, Hiruzen loves Naruto like a grandchild, like the godson he was never able to become with so many enemies baying for Minato's blood. To see him happy, to see him strong, to see him living up to the full potential of his blood and family name—there's very little Hiruzen wouldn’t give to see that. And though he’s been betrayed once before by his student, though he’s had his trust thrown back into his face, Hiruzen can't help but want to offer him this much of a concession. After all, it was in large part his fault that Orochimaru never clearly acknowledged—or perhaps understood—where the lines of morality and restraint fell.

Perhaps this will end in disaster again. But Hiruzen looks to Anko, to Tenzō, to the change in Orochimaru himself, and allows himself to hope that it won't.

“I think,” he says, and can't quite keep the warmth from his voice, “that that sounds like a solid idea, Orochimaru.”

The flicker of relief that slides across Orochimaru’s pale features and is quickly hidden is its own kind of triumph, equally divided between the two of them, but carefully kept separate. Hiruzen watches Orochimaru turn back to his work with more focused hands, with shoulders that don’t tense as if waiting for a blow, and wonders if a day will come when, for them, Naruto can be a triumph shared.

 

  1. **Tsunade**



Tsunade has spent the majority of the last two decades dragging herself back and forth across Fire Country, dodging creditors and Konoha shinobi alike, and she’s tires. The grief still rides her hard, still clings in the long mornings waking up alone and the endless evenings drinking by herself, trying to ignore the hole inside of her. Some days are easier than others, but most aren’t, and Tsunade has come to accept that after so long.

Shizune is a godsend. She’s caring but never stifling, smart but never cutting, skilled enough to keep herself out of danger and wary enough that she doesn’t pick fights. She’s not like Dan, not like Nawaki, and it’s a blessing that Tsunade had never looked for, that she can smile at her student and not have to face her failures with every breath.

However, Shizune is also a friendly young woman, and no matter how often Tsunade tries to pound caution into her head, sometimes her loneliness outweighs her good sense.

That seems to be the case when Tsunade finally surfaces from her first bottle of sake for the afternoon, and realizes that for once Shizune isn’t hovering disapprovingly, warning her to eat and hydrate if she’s really going to drink herself into a stupor _again_. Instead, she’s nowhere immediately obvious, and Tsunade shifts, a thread of wary worry creeping into her heart.

But before she can start to fret, bright laughter draws her attention, and she turns towards the sound, gaze landing on the familiar form of her apprentice. There's another girl sitting at the table with her, a young woman with dark violet hair and clothes that might generously be termed _skimpy_. The stranger leans forward, unrepentantly flirting as she smiles coyly up at Shizune, who’s flushed and clearly somewhat flustered. Tsunade watches with amusement as her apprentice’s gaze slides downward, landing squarely on the generous amount of cleavage framed by the woman’s muscled biceps, then jerks back up towards the woman’s face. The violet-haired woman tips her head back and laughs, showing the silver plate framed by her fringe. A Konoha hitai-ate, and somehow Tsunade isn’t even surprised. At least Shizune has decent taste, and didn’t go for the Kumo shinobi who was all but throwing himself at her a few days ago.

Deciding she’d best get this over with, because it will come out sooner or later anyway, Tsunade pushes away from the bar, snags her bottle, and wanders over to where her blushing apprentice is attempting to flirt back. It seems to be working, if the interested light in the kunoichi’s pale brown eyes is anything to go by, and Tsunade is a little regretful that she has to interrupt.

“Mind if I sit here for a moment?” she asks, even as she drops into the open seat, and pretends deafness to Shizune’s stuttering protests, keeping her eyes on the strange kunoichi.

As she’d thought, the woman takes one glance at her and her eyes sharpen with recognition. She glances at Shizune, then back at Tsunade, and her face shutters, a mask of smug cheer settling over her features. It hides everything she might really be feeling, leaving nothing open, and even her body language is closed off.

Yeah, Tsunade thinks a little wryly. This woman _definitely_ knows who she is.

“Of course not, Tsunade-sama,” the kunoichi says, and Tsunade might buy that façade of cheer except for the fact that she can see the edge of _something_ lurking in her eyes. Sharp, she thinks, like broken glass. Like steel honed into an edge that rends and tears.

Shizune’s head snaps around, the beginnings of betrayal sliding into her expression, and when she catches sight of it something like sympathy touches the Konoha kunoichi’s gaze. She smiles, bright and false, and says, “I didn’t realize this hottie was attached to you. Sorry, didn’t mean to poach.”

Shizune splutters. “I—we—she— _attached_? She’s my _teacher_!” But the embarrassment has overcome the wariness, and Tsunade counts that as a win, even if it’s going to leave Shizune steaming for the next few days.

“Poach away,” she agrees, amused that this girl, even younger than Shizune, managed to read the situation so well. “As long as Shizune doesn’t mind, I couldn’t care less who she tumbles.”

Flushing crimson, Shizune buries her face in her folded arms, groaning, “Tsunade-sama!”

Thankfully, the kunoichi just giggles, leaning back in her seat. “I'm Mitarashi Anko,” she offers cheerfully. “I've heard a lot about you, Tsunade-sama. It’s nice to finally meet you in person. You don’t look nearly as angry as I expected.”

Tsunade kind of wants to groan too at that. Given that particular phrasing, there's only one likely culprit, and the next time she sees him she’s going to bash his skull in. “Jiraiya's been spreading tales again, I see.”

Anko's smile fades a little, and she tips her head. “That perverted old geezer?” she huffs, and there's a thread of resentment and loathing in her tone that puts the hairs up on the back of Tsunade's neck. “Not hardly.” Then she smiles, and it’s like a sun coming out from behind the clouds. “No, Orochimaru-sensei talks about you sometimes. I think he misses you a lot.”

Caught entirely off guard, Tsunade blinks at the woman. She doesn’t _look_ obviously deranged. “ _Sensei_?” she repeats, maybe a little bit weakly. Of all the people she expected to end up with a student, Orochimaru is just about the last on her list. Especially given this girl’s bright and obviously cheerful nature.

Anko opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, a loud voice calls from the door of the bar, “Come _on_ , hag! Is it really that hard for you to flash your boobs at some dumb sucker? Can't we _go_?”

Face crimson with fury, Anko slams her hands down on the tabletop and shoves to her feet. “NARUTO I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” she snarls, then hurls herself right over the top of the table and lunges for the doorway. The blond boy standing there—a genin going by his hitai-ate and lack of flak jacket—sees her coming, squeaks, and ducks just in time. Anko goes hurtling over his head, and from outside there's a scream, a crash, and a series of heavy thuds. Someone cries, “My _cabbages_!” in a disbelieving, plaintive voice, but Naruto is already moving, bolting under tables and flinging himself around chairs. An instant later Anko dives back through the doorway, clutching handfuls of kunai, and snarls in rage as she sees the boy escaping.

“Get back here, you little brat! I'm gonna _skin you_!”

Naruto yelps, catches a kunai that comes flying at his head, and ducks around behind Shizune’s chair. “Stop it, ugly! Sensei said—”

With a bloodthirsty grin, Anko closes in. “ _Sensei_ isn’t here to save your punk ass right now, _Naruto._ I'm going to mount your head on my _wall_ for this.”

“You need me!” Naruto yelps, ducking a slash and skittering around to put himself behind Tsunade. “You need me to help you get that one tea set sensei wants so much! If you skin me I’ll never give you my bank passcode!”

Indignation wars with reluctant agreement on Anko's face, and after a long moment she stuffs her kunai away with a snarl. Then she stalks around the table, grabs Naruto up in a headlock, and grinds her knuckles into the bright blond hair. “Screw you, kiddo,” she huffs, shoves him away, and flops back down into her seat. “Fine, but you owe me a bottle of their best sake for interrupting my conversation, got it?”

“Is that what they're calling it now?” Naruto mutters, and ducks an answer swipe from another kunai. He sticks his tongue out at the woman, but obediently heads towards the bar, bouncing on his toes and waving a hand to get the barkeep’s attention.

They are, Tsunade thinks with entirely too much amusement, most _definitely_ Orochimaru’s students. He’s probably had his hands more than full with the two of them, as well, and she can't think of anything better for him. He’s always been prone to getting too lost inside his own head.

“Tell him I said hello,” Tsunade offers impulsively, and then immediately regrets it. She all but abandoned him; how is hello even _close_ to being enough to make up for that? “No. I—tell him that…I hope he has everything he wants, and that he’s been keeping well.”

Anko looks at her for a long moment, weighing, judging. Then she bobs her had a little and says, “Sure, Tsunade-sama.”

Tsunade manages a small smile around the lump in her throat. “Is he happy?” she asks softly, almost too quiet to be heard over the sounds of the bar.

That, at least, makes Anko grin. “I think so.” She sounds entirely pleased with herself, and just rather smug in general. “He is now, at least. He started training Naruto a few years ago, and it’s a good distraction.”

From what, Tsunade doesn’t ask. She heard some of the rumors coming from Konoha fourteen years ago, about an elder’s exile and the captivity of one of Konoha's strongest shinobi. It’s not something she wants to think about, what her absence might have allowed Orochimaru to become.

Because she’s always been particularly good at sticking her head in the sand, Tsunade just smiles back, and allows herself to be content with the knowledge that Orochimaru has found himself something like a family, no matter how chaotic and piecemeal it might be.

 

  1. **Kakashi**



After close to five years without any visible action on the parts of those who might conceivably act, Kakashi finally takes his concerns to the Hokage.

He brings it up when the Hokage is between meetings one night, during his shift as a guard. The Sandaime looks up when he slides out of the shadows, breaking protocol, and asks, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Always,” Sarutobi says instantly, setting his pen down and turning his full attention on Kakashi. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about Tenzō,” Kakashi offers reluctantly, slipping into the free chair across the desk so that he isn’t looming over the Hokage's head. He hesitates, but he’s brought this up enough times with Tenzō himself, only to be politely and firmly brushed off, that he can't see another option to get the situation resolved. “He’s still meeting with Orochimaru.”

The Sandaime regards him evenly for a long moment, then inclines his head. He picks up his pen, scribbles something on a notepad, and then tears it off and passes it across the desk. “Here, Kakashi. Go there at eight-fifteen tonight and observe the occupants. Consider what you see.” When Kakashi opens his mouth to pretest that he wants a solution, not an in-village mission, Sarutobi lifts a hand. “Please. Trust me in this, if nothing else. One night of observation, then assess what you’ve seen and, if you feel the need, report back to me in the morning.”

Phrased like that, there's no real way Kakashi can refuse. He accepts the slip of paper, memorizes the address, and rises to his feet. A short bow to the Hokage and he fades back into the shadows, pulling the persona of Hound up to replace Tenzō’s worried senpai.

//*//

The address, it turns out, is an apartment in one of Konoha's worst districts. Kakashi moves quickly and carefully through the streets, not about to linger in such a place, and tries to imagine what purpose the Hokage has in sending him _here_.

Of course, a large portion of his uncertainty slides away when he spots a familiar head of messy brown hair in the street, walking with purpose and no hesitation, as though he’s been here so many times his feet know the path automatically. Tenzō is carrying a box from what Kakashi is fairly certain is a well-known cake shop, particularly popular with civilian women, and doesn’t seem to notice the grim surroundings. It’s particularly interesting, Kakashi thinks suspiciously, because Kakashi is fully aware of the fact that Tenzō has an apartment of his own on the far side of the village. He shouldn’t have any reason to be so far from home.

For a moment, Kakashi hesitates, torn between the desire to go after Tenzō and the knowledge that the Hokage did technically give him a mission. He checks the number on the closest building, trying to calculate how quickly he can find the appropriate address if he _does_ follow his teammate, and—stops. Because the building Tenzō just disappeared into is the very one he’s looking for. That’s definitely not a coincidence.

A silent as a ghost, Kakashi scales the side of the building, keeping out of sight of the street, and pauses on the fifth floor. Three windows over from the left, he pauses, secures his perch on the narrow sill and risks a swift glance into the apartment.

The first thing he sees is Anko, sprawled out on her back with a scroll over her face, fast asleep if the looseness of her body is anything to go by. It’s…odd, because Kakashi can't think of a single time when he’s _ever_ seen her sleep before. Even on the rare occasions they’ve been paired together on missions, she’s always asleep after him and up before him, and Kakashi had more or less assumed she was just one of those shinobi who were entirely unable to relax around other people.

If she were alone, he could write it off as her home, a safe place. She’s not alone, however; another figure moves through the background, heading for the door, and pulls it open. Tenzō is on the other side, one hand raised to knock, and he blinks in surprise at the man waiting. A long, slim finger touches pale lips, and then Orochimaru steps aside with the eerie, boneless grace that makes Kakashi think of swaying plants and slithering snakes more than anything human.

“Anko?” Tenzō murmurs, and Kakashi can only just read the name on his lips from his current angle.

Orochimaru inclines his head. “Indeed. I'm afraid your courting gifts will go to waste this time, Tenzō.”

Tenzō flushes dull red, the way Kakashi can only rarely get him to do, and shoves the bakery box right into Orochimaru’s face. “They're not _courting gifts_ ,” he hisses, and this time it’s loud enough that Kakashi can hear it through the gap in the window frame. “They're _bribes_. If I don’t bring her food she _tortures_ me, and the miniature version is no better!”

Smirking, Orochimaru catches the box before it can fall and steps away, setting it on the table. “They're both fond of you,” he demurs.

Tenzō gives him a glare, slumping down in one of the seats and pulling his faceguard off. “That’s wonderful,” he says, unimpressed. “For the record, I would rather swim with a pack of hungry sharks than be around those two when they're happy.”

Orochimaru actually snorts at that, stepping out of Kakashi's line of sight for a moment, and then returning a few seconds later with a teacup and a significantly larger mug. Tenzō immediately perks up at the sight of it. “You got me coffee?”

“I'm encouraging destructive habits now, apparently.” Orochimaru sets the mug down in front of him and takes the other seat, then asks, “Have you had any problems, then?”

Kakashi tenses. He has horrific visions of drugged coffee, bloody interrogations, cutting words when Tenzō reveals he hasn’t performed to Orochimaru’s exacting standards.

What he gets instead is a low, slightly horrified groan, and Tenzō slumping forward to thump his head against the tabletop a few times. Kakashi braces himself to dive through the window and wrestle his favorite subordinate from the Snake Sannin’s clutches, but before he can so much as move, Tenzō says plaintively, “That hypothesis you had last time? Confirmed.”

Instead of looking murderous or even any shade of disappointed, Orochimaru just appears amused. “So,” he says, hiding a smirk behind his cup. “Lovesickness can indeed affect Mokuton use. How fascinating.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Tenzō warns him, though with his face still pressed flat to the wood it sounds more pathetic than anything. “It’s a real problem! All the knots in the things I create have started looking like hearts, and if I make a clone it’s going to do something _embarrassing_ , like—like blurt out the truth, or jump him, or—I don’t even know anymore.”

This is…not the conversation Kakashi came here expecting to hear. It’s really, _really_ not. He thinks of the Hokage's expression, his dismissal of Kakashi's concerns, and feels a little like sinking into the brickwork behind him, because Sarutobi very obviously knows that Orochimaru isn’t torturing Tenzō, or forcing him into experiments, but of course he couldn’t just _tell_ Kakashi that, because why would he when he could make Kakashi feel like a stupid genin again, and—

From inside Tenzō says, in what's very nearly a wail, “This is _terrible_! Senpai is never going to notice me and I'm going to be stuck making heart-shaped walls and bridges for the rest of my _life_!”

Kakashi falls off the window ledge.

There is, handily, a very large pile of garbage to break his fall, and when Kakashi drags himself home smelling like last week’s rotted fish dinner, he feels that it’s a fitting end to a very unexpected day.

He also makes a mental note to hint to Tenzō that he has no problem roleplaying the sweet, shy kouhai confessing to the cool, aloof senpai. Absolutely no problem at all, now that he considers it.

 

  1. **Shikaku**



A few months after Shikamaru turns thirteen, he comes home from training with a very strange look on his face.

When he wanders into the kitchen, Shikaku eyes his son closely for a moment, then sets his paperwork down and asks mildly, “Did something happen today?”

Shikamaru blinks, glancing up at him as if he hadn’t noticed his father’s presence, and then says in a peculiar tone of voice, “Did you know that the Sannin Orochimaru is training Naruto?”

Shikaku pauses, stunned, because he _hadn’t_ known that. Hadn’t even vaguely suspected it, even though he’s heard Kakashi griping several times about how his team of geniuses is going to be the death of him. (Frankly, Shikaku has no pity; it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bastard, as far as he’s concerned.) “Uzumaki Naruto?” he asks, just to clarify.

Shikamaru shoots him the look that question probably deserves. “Because the village has so many of them,” he says, as dry as a Wind Country desert. “Yes, that Naruto. He’s…” He pauses, expression shifting as he mulls over his word choices, and then decides on, “Utterly terrifying.”

Shikaku went to school with Minato and Kushina both, and he was a soldier in the Third Shinobi War when Orochimaru was one of their greatest and most devastating frontline fighters. He tries to combine the three in his head, but his brain takes one look at the finished product and stalls out in protest. Shikaku doesn’t really blame it. There's only so many horrors the human mind can withstand, and that image alone is a good portion of them.

“I can imagine,” he says, a little weakly, because he really doesn’t want to.

Shikamaru casts him a faint smirk that says he’s reading his father’s mind again, then dumps his weapons pouch on the back of a chair and drops into it, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I didn’t account for this is my calculations,” he laments absently, staring up at the ceiling.

“Neither did I,” Shikaku mutters, and wonders if it’s too early to break out the sake. Yoshino would probably say it is, unfortunately, and Shikaku can never get anything by that woman. She’s terrifying. He adores her.

For a brief moment, he tries to factor a Snake-trained Uzumaki into his future mission rosters, and wonders if it’s just his brain shorting out again that keeps giving him images of Konoha as a cratered wasteland.

“Oh,” Shikamaru says suddenly, as though recalling something of no great importance. Shikaku tenses automatically, because this is the tone Shikamaru uses when he’s going to say something that his father _really_ isn’t going to like, before swanning off and leaving Shikaku to figure out how to break the news to Yoshino. He levels a wary stare at his son, who very carefully doesn’t meet his gaze, but says, “I think Naruto might have asked me out. And I think I might have accidentally said yes.”

Shikaku’s mouth drops open. Before he can even start to gather his brain cells, Shikamaru bolts, faster than Shikaku has ever seen him move before. He’s gone in an instant, and Shikaku is left spluttering in the kitchen, wondering how the hell he’s going to tell Yoshino his son is _accidentally_ dating Minato and Kushina's kid. Accidentally dating the _Kyuubi jinchuuriki_ , and not only that but a _Kyuubi jinchuuriki_ trained by _the Sannin Orochimaru._

He wonders, vaguely and entirely in vain, where he left his earplugs.

 

  1. **Jiraiya**



Jiraiya doesn’t need almost twenty years as Konoha's spymaster under his belt to know that the ragtag group of battered orphans gathering in Orochimaru’s apartment is a family. A strange one, awkwardly slotted together out of pieces that should logically never fit, but a family all the same.

Granted, Jiraiya's memories of his own family are scattered and blurred, lost to time and their deaths when he was too little to remember more than vague impressions. It’s not a loss he’s every really dwelt on, not the way Orochimaru did when his family passed—it’s a wound, it hurt, but it was long ago, and Jiraiya has moved on. He’s fine, he’s content, he has what he needs to live the life he chose.

But…it’s definitely a family, what they have. Jiraiya doubted for months, watched them suspiciously, because Anko was Orochimaru’s mindless minion and Tenzō was a former experiment with who knew what triggers encoded into his DNA and Naruto was an impressionable brat. That was the only explanation that made any _sense_. Except—

Except.

They move in units, together, unified. There's never one left out, one left behind, never a time when one of the four aren’t close enough for a rescue or a shoulder to lean on or an open door. Jiraiya watches, and sees Anko the cheerful sister, Tenzō the aloof brother, Naruto the energetic child. And Orochimaru is in the center of it, not exactly parental but…a mentor. A haven. A monster big enough to protect the other monsters from a world that would turn on them all too easily, and Jiraiya knows he’s counted among that number now.

He regrets it, sometimes. Often. What Orochimaru did was unforgivable, but Jiraiya missed all the signs. How much blame for Orochimaru’s slide into darkness can be laid squarely at his feet, wrapped up with the pretty bow of his blind naivety and tied with his horrifying arrogance? He’d thought that leaving, staying in Ame with the three brats, was all he needed to atone. He’d thought it was the good thing, the right thing, and maybe it was, but there was a war being waged behind them. Dan was the next casualty. Tsunade, too, though she didn’t die outright. His absence was enough for Danzō to sink his claws even deeper into Orochimaru, enough for Orochimaru to turn to experiments that he should have _known_ could never be acceptable. And then—

He’d turned the full force of his disgust, half self-directed, on the first person he really loved, on the first person to _love him back_ , and said something that even now he can see is inexcusable.

_I'm sorry. I just…I can't love a monster._

He and Orochimaru, they’ll never be what they once were, after that. Jiraiya doesn’t know that he’d want them to be, in all honesty. Orochimaru killed Konoha's children, experimented on them when there was little to no chance of them surviving the procedure, and that’s not something Jiraiya can forgive. It’s not something that _should_ be forgiven. It was murder, and Orochimaru knew better than to go through with it, but he did so anyway.

But (and of course there's a but, where Orochimaru is concerned) it’s been years. Orochimaru is confined, chained, bound. He’ll never escape. Is that punishment enough, to stay in the village he hates, to use his knowledge and skills to better the place that exists as his prison? Does his mentorship of Naruto, Tenzō, and Anko count towards the heavenly balance on his karmic scale?

Jiraiya doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he ever will. And it hardly matters anymore, because things have been this way for years and they’ll _keep_ being this way until something forces a change.

(Orochimaru looks at Naruto with hope in his eyes.

Jiraiya doubts Orochimaru would recognize it, if he saw it in a mirror, but Jiraiya does. He recognizes it, understands the cause. Naruto is the future Orochimaru was denied, the future he denied himself with his actions. Naruto is the last chance of freedom for a man without, a success in a life that has become stagnant and staid.

But Orochimaru looks at him with hope, and Jiraiya sees it. And when an elder whispers about corrupting influences, when Sarutobi worries or Shikaku watches with wary eyes, Jiraiya does his best to turn their attention away, to distract and divert and make sure they leave the ragtag band in peace, dreaming of the future and reaching for the stars. He keeps his distance, watches, and protects them as best he’s able in the life he’s chosen.  

That’s what family does, after all.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [King on a Burning Throne [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857380) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




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